


In Which Yokozawa Takafumi Finally Gives In

by Empress_of_Yaoi



Category: Sekai-ichi Hatsukoi
Genre: Are we really alone?, Bottom Yokozawa, Love, Lube, Lube is fucking important for fucking, M/M, Smut, Tsundere Yokozawa, Twelve Days of Smutness, Yokozawa Takafumi No Baai
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:20:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28139061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Empress_of_Yaoi/pseuds/Empress_of_Yaoi
Summary: It's hard to imagine that after all this time they still haven't done it. But it's just never the right time, and the right time is certainly not now! Kirishima-san, we can't do this on the couch!
Relationships: Kirishima Zen/Yokozawa Takafumi
Comments: 2
Kudos: 42
Collections: The Twelve Days of Smutness 2020





	In Which Yokozawa Takafumi Finally Gives In

“Not on the couch, you idiot! Hiyo might wake up!”    
  


Kirishima chuckled as his hands pushed Yokozawa’s out of the way so he could resume unbuckling the younger man’s belt, “She’s at her grandparents’ house, remember? I had to work late so I told her to stay the night there.”    
  


“Right…” Still feeling inexplicably uncomfortable, Yokozawa’s eyes glanced up at the clock. 1 AM, she was definitely sound asleep by now. At her grandparents’ house. They were the only ones in the Kirishima apartment - well, them and Sorata. But the old cat didn’t care about the two men lying entangled on the couch; Too busy eating.    
  


Kirishima’s fingers had opened his belt by now, immediately starting to work on undoing his button and zipper. Given Yokozawa’s current position on his back, it wasn’t hard for Kirishima to get at what he wanted, his fingers soon reaching Yokozawa’s half-risen member.    
  


“Oh?” Kirishima’s cheeky laugh made the younger man blush, “I see you’re going to need some help with that…” Fingers swiftly hooked around the band of Yokozawa’s boxer briefs and before he had a chance to protest, they were pulled down; His cock exposed to the harsh lamplight.    
  


“Hey!” Attempting to wiggle away, Yokozawa forced the other man off of him, trying to pull up his underwear and pull down his shirt at the same time in a fruitless attempt to hide himself. “Stop it, Kirishima-san!” His frown was securely in place, his eyes glaring daggers at the offending brunet.    
  


Kirishima only cocked his head, his hands resting high on Yokozawa’s thighs. Sucking in a harsh breath was all Yokozawa could do to not go off on the man even more. That damned innocent look on his face! Those damn amused lights in his eyes! Those distracting hands that were yet again creeping up and trying to touch him through the all but non-existent shield that his shirt offered!    
  


He looked off to the side, his eyes catching on some stars that were just barely visible through a gap between the curtains, “Something feels off, Kirishima. I can’t do it like this…”    
  


Heaving a deep sigh, the older man moved off of him, “You always say that. Either something feels ‘off’ -- whatever that means -- or you’re too tired from work.”    
  


His stomach lunged uncomfortably at Kirishima’s disappointed tone, but he tried to hide it with crass words, “Sales isn’t like your cushy editor’s job, you know. We’re the ones having to pick up behind you guys all the ti -”   
  


“Like you picked up behind me when I sent confidential information about a yet-to-be-released movie to a large bookstore? Oh right, that was me saving your butt. I forgot.” He crossed his legs stiffly, giving the man on his couch a cold look, “By all means though, continue. Don’t let my little interruption ruin your undoubtedly well-rehearsed speech about your imagined superiority.”    
  


Right. Well, that concluded the evening. Why was he here in the first place? Kirishima had been the one dragging him around town against his will. Kirishima had kissed him against his will. Had taken Yokozawa’s life and turned it upside down. Yokozawa pulled up his zipper and closed the button on his pants before sitting up. The muscles in his legs moved to get up when a familiar weight landed on his lap. Sorata. A cynical smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, the stupid cat had sure made itself comfortable here. But of all the times it could’ve chosen to finally lie on his lap again… His eyebrows twitched, his lips forming an unplanned, “Tsch…” Something stopped him from pushing Sorata off his lap, though it could have been as simple as just having missed the cat. But Hiyori took care of it now, Hiyori had time to care for the cat. Yokozawa was too busy working and wallowing in self-pity.   
  


Beside him, Kirishima slowly got up. He seemed to ignore Yokozawa, who in turn wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that. But Kirishima ignored him all the same, walking over to the glass door and sliding it open just far enough to slip outside. A few seconds later the quiet but unmistakable sound of a lighter drifted back through the open door; the man had lit himself a cigarette.    
  


The sudden need for nicotine overruled even the deepest feelings of unease and Yokozawa unceremoniously dumped the cat onto the couch beside him, his body already outside on the balcony before he could consider leaving and having his smoke outside the building. It was too late now; Kirishima nodded at him, his hand nonchalantly waving at the pack of cigarettes on the patio table.   
  


He tried hard to keep his mask in place, to not show the older man just how uncomfortable he felt. If Kirishima caught sight of the bulge in his pants, his life as he knew it was over. Yokozawa was still undecided between staying or leaving; Part of him wanted to run as far away from this apartment as physically possible -- he didn’t want Kirishima to know  _ that _ either. Life had been a delicate balancing act ever since Kirishima Zen had forced his way into Yokozawa’s life, and the man wasn’t entirely sure whether that was for better or for worse. Hiyori was a nice girl, he liked her. But at the same time, he very much disliked just how mature she was for her age. This girl cooked dinner; cleaned the house; did the laundry -- all while waiting for pappa to finally come home. It made Yokozawa feel incredibly sad to see her growing up so fast.    
Kirishima himself seemed capable of reading Yokozawa’s mind at times, which was a whole other level of discomfort as far as he was concerned. He’d been able to do it to Masamune for years, but that disconcerting skill had never been turned on him before. Yokozawa just didn’t know how to feel about it.    
  


“Thinking about Takano again, are you?” Kirishima’s tone seemed unnaturally lifeless, “I thought I’d finally broken you out of his spell but now you’re willingly going back?”    
  


“No.” He picked up the cigarettes, tapping them on the railing before picking one. A lighter flared up beside his face and Yokozawa silently took the offer. “I’m just thinking, that’s all.”    
  


“Thinking about Takano.” It wasn’t a question. Kirishima turned away, “I really wish you’d stop doing that.”    
  


Annoyed, Yokozawa looked in the opposite direction, not wanting to interact with the other man at all, yet unable to stop himself from replying, “Who says I was thinking about him?”   
  


“Your face.” Shrugging, Kirishima extinguished his cigarette before turning towards the door.    
  


“Don’t make me say it again.” He didn’t know why he said it, he hadn’t planned on saying anything. Yet now that he had spoken up, Yokozawa couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out, “I wasn’t thinking about him. I was thinking about me. About how I used to be able to almost read his mind -- much the same way as you’re seemingly able to read mine. I was trying to figure out how I feel about that because all I know for sure is that it makes me uncomfortable. It makes me insecure because I never know if and how much you’re going to be able to figure out. Not to mention all the misconceptions that you keep making me clear up because you assumed something stupid like me thinking about Masamune again when I’m clearly only thinking about you!” He’d run out of breath, breathing hard as he stared at Kirishima. Yokozawa’s brow was furrowed, the corners of his mouth turned down. Why didn’t Kirishima understand all this without him having to explain? If the guy was so good at picking up on his moods, why did he have to tell him that the only guy that had been on his mind in months was Kirishima himself?!   
  


Frozen in place, Kirishima just blinked. Then, without warning, he grabbed Yokozawa’s wrist, twisting the cigarette out of his reluctant grasp and tossing it into the ashtray. Pulling on Yokozawa’s arm, he dragged the younger man inside. Sorata was quick to move as Kirishima swung Yokozawa onto the couch, immediately straddling him so he effectively pinned the other man down, “That was all you ever had to say. That you’re thinking of me.” His tone was so gruff it was hard to make out the words, but Yokozawa soon learned that words weren’t the most important part of the message.    
  


Lips crashed against his in a kiss more violent than he had ever encountered before. This was nothing like the kiss Kirishima had stolen back at the bar, this didn’t even compare to that feverish night he’d had with Masamune back in college. This was passion on a whole other level; Yokozawa felt overwhelmed and even a little scared.    
  


He wrestled to get loose, pushing the older man away with force. But this time, Kirishima didn’t pull back, lips hovering just barely above his own, “I’m not going anywhere, not when you tell me that you’re only thinking of me.” Kirishima breathed superficially, unable to catch his breath, “You’ve said it twice now. The first time… The first time I figured you needed more time. And you did, even now you might need more time. But I can’t wait any longer. Not when you keep saying how much you’re thinking about me.” His lips came closer, tickling against Yokozawa’s as Kirishima whispered, “If you really want me to stop, just tell me. But don’t tease me anymore. I can’t take it -- I need you so bad.”    
  


Yokozawa’s eyes widened at the demanding tone, the almost desperate words. He didn’t realize Kirishima’s tongue had slipped inside until he felt something tickle against the roof of his mouth. He felt alarmed, awkwardly trying to push the other man up to create a little distance between their bodies, but Yokozawa realized almost immediately that he didn’t really want Kirishima to move back. He needed Kirishima as much as Kirishima needed him.    
  


He didn’t realize how tight his fingers curled around the other man’s shoulders until he felt Kirishima flinch, an amused flicker in the brunet’s eyes, “Kinky, are we?”   
  


Yokozawa could only breathlessly shake his head, feeling lightheaded from the kiss that still occupied most of his mind. He forced his hands to relax, recoiling into the couch as he noticed just how deep his fingernails had dug in. One of the seams of Kirishima’s shirt was coming apart; red skin visible through the parting fabric.   
  


Kirishima’s head cocked to the side, the amusement on his face turning into a warm smile as he whispered, “Don’t look, it’s nothing to worry about. Just relax, okay?” He seemed to wait for a response, so Yokozawa forced himself to nod even though he still felt awkward about what happened. Kirishima’s smile was warm and inviting, his hand tugging at his shirt just enough to hide the gap before he leaned down again.    
  


Lips passionately touched his own once more, though Kirishima seemed to have realized his earlier approach had startled the younger man. This time he didn’t push, the kiss turning languid before long. Yokozawa felt he could finally relax into their shared kiss, his anxiety slowly melting away under Kirishima’s gentle touch.    
  


Resting his weight on one hand, Kirishima sent the other out to wander Yokozawa’s chest; undoing a few buttons to glide against bare skin. An unstoppable sigh of pleasure escaped his lips, spilling into Kirishima’s mouth as he unconsciously raised his chest up to meet that perusing hand. He could feel the other man smile against his lips, fingers ever seeking out more skin to touch. Kirishima’s hand felt like ice on his burning skin, the sensation so overwhelming that Yokozawa lost track of everything else. There was only that cold hand roaming his chest, the comfortable weight of the other man’s body.    
  


The kiss had completely slipped his mind, only Kirishima’s lips -- barely touching his own -- reminded him of what had been happening before that hand -- that icy cold hand that was setting every inch of exposed skin on fire -- had started touching him. Yokozawa could barely breathe, the air around him thick with lust. Angling his chin up just a little, he tried to force his body to take in air. Within moments, he felt Kirishima place soft kisses on his chin. The distraction was both amusing and, in a way, bothersome as Yokozawa had to force himself to breathe. His voice came out as a whimper even though he tried to sound strong, “Kiri... shima… I… I can’t breathe… it’s too much…”    
  


A warm chuckle sounded through the room, Kirishima’s lips traveling up Yokozawa’s jawline before gently sucking on the other man’s earlobe for a few seconds, “Takafumi, don’t you think it’s about time you started calling me Zen?”   
  


A breathless whimper escaped him, silently begging the other man to continue whatever it was he had been doing to Yokazawa’s ear. But Kirishima only nuzzled against him, this time it was clear he wasn’t going to do anything more before getting his answer. Yokozawa frowned lightly, feeling far too overwhelmed to be making decisions like this. “I… but at work…”    
  


“Hmm?” Kirishima sounded confused, “I think most people have caught on to the fact that you and I get along, or at the very least spend quite some time together. You don’t really look like you get along with anyone, honestly.” He nudged Yokozawa’s neck again, Kirishima’s hot breath setting yet another part of his body on fire, “But if you’re really that worried about it…” A sigh fell against Yokozawa’s skin and suddenly, he didn’t care anymore.    
  


Gently lifting Kirishima’s head with both hands, he studied the older man’s face for a few long seconds. Kirishima had a defeated look on his face; His eyes had lost their usual shine. “Zen,” he breathed, finding it hard to force the name out after years of addressing this man as ‘Kirishima-san’, “I’m sorry, I never meant to hurt you. I just…”    
  


Some of the sparkles returned to his eyes and Kirishima gave him a warm smile, “I understand. And you’re going to mess up sometimes, I know that.” His expression turned serious as he gently nudged Yokozawa’s chin, “I’ll keep reminding you, Takafumi. I don’t ever want you to call me Kirishima-san again.”   
  


Yokozawa nodded, feeling the moment settle heavily on his chest. A fundamental part of their relationship had changed and right now he didn’t have the time to examine how he felt about it. But maybe that was a good thing. Maybe it was better if he stopped analyzing everything Kirishima -- no, Zen -- did.    
  


The brunet looked at him with a knowing smile but didn’t speak, instead nuzzling the small space under his chin, covering the area in the softest of kisses. Yokozawa leaned back, allowing the other better access as his own hands gently felt their way around Kirishima’s back. The older man’s dress shirt bunched up under his hands, the back of it getting untucked while the front was still securely held in place. Yokozawa physically resisted the urge to rip the fabric off of the other man’s body, barely holding back enough to trail his fingers towards the first button on Kirirshima’s shirt.    
  


Kirishima moved back just far enough to allow him room to work. Unfortunately, that also meant that his soft kisses and gentle nudges under Yokozawa’s chin had ceased. Wanting above all else to get those sensations back, he worked as quickly as he could. Once all the buttons that he could reach were undone, Yokozawa impatiently tugged at Kirishima’s shirt; Attempting to free it from the other man’s pants but realistically only succeeding in making the older man chuckle. Without a word, the brunet sat up, untucking his shirt and discarding it in one continuous action. Brown eyes sparkled as they looked at him, clearly noting Yokazawa’s flustered cheeks. He tore his gaze away, his eyes once again finding the gap between the curtains as he looked for anything else to focus his eyes on. Kirishima’s -- Zen’s -- bare chest was an exhilarating sight, much more so than he could have ever thought it would be. It was ridiculous. He was acting like a virgin who’d never even seen a man shirtless before. His cheeks were burning and he clenched his teeth.    
  


“You think I’m going to make fun of you?” Kirishima’s voice was unexpectedly down to earth and it made Yokozawa throw a hesitant glance up at him, “I told you, didn’t I? I’ll accept everything about you.”    
  


Shrugging uncomfortably, Yokozawa turned his head back towards the brunet. Still unable to really come up with an intelligible response, he furrowed his brow once more before reaching out his hands and resting them on Zen’s hips. He wanted to reach up higher, but his own awkwardness stopped him. He didn’t know what to do, so he just gripped Kirishima’s hips tightly.    
  


“It’s okay if you need a little time,” Zen’s words came out patiently, the smile on his face was calm, “Just let me know when you’re ready -”   
  


“Am I stopping you or anything?!” Annoyed at his own behavior more than anything, Yokozawa couldn’t manage to stay still. He pushed himself up, pulling his own shirt off to match Kirishima’s lack of clothing. The white shirt fell to the floor beside the couch as Yokozawa looked up at Kirishima defiantly, “Who ever decided I needed more time? Because I sure don’t remember saying anything of the sort.”    
  


Kirishima’s smile turned cocky, his eyes lidded as he pushed his chin up and looked down at Yokozawa. “Well, if that’s the case…” Acting quickly, he moved back on the couch, hands suddenly on Yokozawa’s shoulders, pushing him down. Before his back had even touched the couch, Zen’s hands were back on him, undoing the button and zipper on his pants once more. Lips hungrily attacked the skin just above his underwear, while hands busied themselves with ridding him of his jeans. Yokozawa was breathless, unsure how to respond -- unsure if he was happy or unhappy about Kirishima’s sudden forwardness. Yet without thinking, he leaned back on his elbows and lifted his hips, aiding Zen in his quest to remove his jeans. His skin was on fire where Kirishima’s lips had left him, burning cold everywhere else.    
  


Yokozawa shivered as his jeans fell to the floor and Kirishima’s fingers curled around the edge of his underwear instead. Swallowing hard, all he could do was stare at the brunet, still not sure of what he himself actually wanted. Zen shot him a dazzling smile, letting go of the underwear for the moment and resting his hands on either side of Yokozawa’s hips.    
  


The shimmer in his eyes turned cheeky moments before Kirishima dove down, nuzzling against Yokozawa’s cock. He felt his cheeks burning as he lay frozen on Kirishima’s couch, his gaze irrevocably drawn to the man nudging his nose to his barely restrained erection. Sounds fell off his lips; soft, unintelligible sounds of embarrassed pleasure. Yokozawa’s hand balled into a fist as he attempted to restrain himself but he couldn’t stay quiet no matter how hard he tried. His limbs were shaking with either lust or bashfulness; Yokozawa honestly didn’t know. He was also fastly approaching the point where he simply did not  _ care _ .    
  


Down his body, Zen moaned softly, his lips gently tugging at the fabric separating them from Yokozawa’s cock. Yokozawa shivered, causing Kirishima to look up, “Am I going too fast, Takafumi?” His expression was warm and soft, his tone even softer, “I mean it when I say you can tell me.”   
  


He let out a ragged breath, shaking his head just a little before finally finding his voice, “I’m just…” Flustered, he looked away from those agonizingly understanding eyes, “It’s been…” Yokozawa attempted a deep breath before weakly finishing, “a while…”    
  


Zen remained quiet, moving up along Yokozawa’s body until he could whisper into the younger man’s ear, “I understand. I’m not much different,” a small breath escaped him; a soundless chuckle, Yokozawa understood, “I mean, it’s not like I’ve ever made a habit of bringing people home,” he hesitated for a moment, “Or to a hotel room.” Yokozawa could hear Kirishima swallow before his panting breath moved lower and he nuzzled the skin just below Yokozawa’s ear, “What are you most comfortable with, Takafumi?”   
  


He thought about it seriously for a moment before realizing that there was honestly only one thing he really wanted -- nay,  _ needed _ from Zen. His eyes let go of the night sky’s reprieve as he forced himself to look Kirishima in the eyes. Taking a calming breath, Yokozawa opened his mouth to speak -- but then realized he could not make himself say it. His face felt hotter than it had ever been and shameful tears burned behind his eyes but he just couldn’t say the words.    
  


Wholly embarrassed and feeling quite inadequate, all Yokozawa could do was open and close his mouth as his cheeks continued to burn. The wetness that had been contained behind his eyes was slowly forcing its way to the front which was disturbing in its own right -- the last thing he wanted to do was make Kirishima worry over him. Those days had to be over now, he was over Masamune, he was with Kirish-- Zen. He was safe and loved and why the hell couldn’t he just say the damn words?!   
  


A small peck on his cheek pulled Yokozawa out of his increasingly dismal thoughts, Kirishima’s lips comforting him in ways he had never experienced before. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, taking a deep breath before finally giving the answer that had been stuck in his throat, “...  want you to fuck me deeply… ”   
  


Kirishima’s face appeared above him, his eyes delightfully surprised as he blinked at Yokozawa. Unable to deal with any more of Kirishima’s gushing, Yokozawa turned his head away. His cheeks were still on fire and the embarrassing tears were threatening to spill over; He could not deal with Kirishima calling him out on any of it.    
  


“Huh…” The brunet sounded genuinely surprised, “I never thought you’d actually say it. Of course, I’m not exactly sure I expected you to say  _ that _ , either.” A warm chuckle shook him. It was astonishing how little it contributed to Yokozawa’s embarrassment; he figured he must’ve reached peak embarrassment then, it was impossible that Zen’s laugh would calm him down. Unthinkable.    
  


Suddenly, the comfortable weight that had been grounding him disappeared as Zen shot up, whispering that he’d be right back -- and to stay put. Yokozawa emptied his lungs in one low breath, feeling a weight fall off of him. Had he really gotten so worked up about this that his entire body was tense? It seemed he had; Kirishima could  _ never _ find out. “Tsch… Like he doesn’t know already…”    
  


“Know what?” Kirishima’s voice was honestly confused, but after a second or so had passed, the brunet sat down next to Yokozawa’s hips, a bottle of lube and a silver foil-wrapped square in his hands; his voice was calmer now, “It’s alright. You don’t have to tell me. I’m somewhat nervous too, you know.”    
  


Yokozawa could only shrug uncomfortably, there was no point in discussing it any further. Instead, he focussed his whirlpool of emotions on the overhead light, squinting at it as if it had personally offended him. And it very well may have, for if not for that bright light, he wouldn’t feel so exposed. Zen seemed to get the hint without effort; The weight of his body disappeared for a moment, the light disappearing shortly after. There was some light coming through the gaps in the curtains, another source of light behind the couch -- the hallway, Yokozawa soon realized.    
  


Coming back to him in the near-darkness, Kirishima dropped his pants along the way. The sound was unmistakable and sent shivers all over Yokozawa’s skin. A knee was gently placed beside him as Kirishima leaned over. Yokozawa eagerly kissed back when soft lips met his own. His arms came up on their own, fingers linking behind Kirishima’s neck, pulling the man ever closer to him. His body trembled uncontrollably and his lungs barely seemed to be able to take in any air. His heart was beating painfully fast, assaulting his ribcage as it fluttered about. Yokozawa felt one hand reach down, lightly stroking him through his underwear. By now there was a wet spot, warning whoever would take notice that Yokozawa Takafumi wouldn’t be lasting much longer. It was embarrassing. Or rather, it would be. If the person stroking him wasn’t Kirishima Zen. 

Kirishima shifted above him, nuzzling his neck for just a moment before moving back. Yokozawa heard the quiet crinkle of foil before hands gently tugged on his underwear once again. This time though, he lifted his hips immediately, feeling safe in the relative darkness of the room. Safe because this was Kirishima Zen -- the man who accepted him unconditionally.    
  


He could feel Zen move his legs under his own. Though his cheeks burned, Yokozawa felt more excited than anything. The sound of tearing plastic sounded through the quiet room, immediately followed by Zen’s soft voice, “It wouldn’t do to forget the lube, now would it?” A quiet chuckle -- barely more than a breath -- followed the words and Yokozawa smiled softly.    
  


“Don’t tell me you were going to ram your junk in me without so much as half a bottle of the stuff!” Joking though he may have sounded, the sudden surge of anxiety was clear in Yokozawa’s voice. He hid his face behind his arm, insecurity rearing its ugly head once more. Here he was, lying spread-eagled on Kirishima’s couch. One leg draped over the back of the couch, the other hanging off Zen’s slender hip; Utterly exposing his body. And Kirishima was sure to be watching, the man had uncanny night vision -- was there even a point to turning the lights off in the first place? 

“Oh no, Takafumi,” there was a heavy pause to Zen’s words, a slick hand coming to rest upon Yokozawa’s hip, “I think you might be overestimating me. There really is no need for half a bottle. Honestly, a few drops would suffice to coat me entirely.” The cool hand stroked him softly as Zen’s tone turned from lighthearted to dead-serious, “I would never hurt you, Takafumi. Just take a few deep breaths. You’ll be okay, it’ll feel good.”    
  


“You don’t have to tell me that,” Yokozawa just barely managed not to scream, his words coming out in a furious whisper instead. “Of course it’s going to feel good, I know what I asked for. I know what I like. I’m not nervous about that part, I’m just -” He hid his face deeper into the crook of his elbow, “ It’s embarrassing because you’re watching me …”    
  


Zen let out another quiet chuckle, leaning over and gently pulling Yokozawa’s arm away from his face, “I’d rather be watching your face.” He leaned down momentarily, placing a soft kiss on Yokozawa’s lips.    
  


Yokozawa swallowed hard, resigning himself to keep his arms away from his face. Now that his eyes were slowly getting accustomed to the darkness, he could see Zen’s face as well. He could see the warm, inviting smile that drifted his way. Zen’s eyes sparkled, it was easy to get lost in them as soft hands stroked him gently before helping him reposition. Yokozawa was entirely lost in Zen’s eyes, everything else forgotten for now. They sparkled with pure joy and love; showing Yokozawa exactly how much he meant to Zen.    
  


There was a sudden intrusion down below; a moment of pain that was soon followed by a fullness that felt like pure bliss. Zen cocked his head slightly, a panted breath falling off his lips as he looked back into Yokozawa’s eyes. Smiling back, he let his hands travel to Zen’s hips, moving his own as he sought to complement Zen’s slow rhythm.    
  


They moved slowly, trying to draw out the moment as long as they could before their bodies would inevitably fail them and spill their essence in one short moment of euphoria. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and sex. The only sounds were their panted breaths and the occasional soft moan. Yokozawa could feel his orgasm fast approaching, unable to stave it off, he bucked his hips, wanting above all else to enjoy this feeling just a little longer. But his body could hold out no longer. Zen smiled at him as he grunted, his eyes falling shut for a moment. Above him, Zen let out a vibrating moan as he shuddered inside him.    
  


Yokozawa opened his eyes to find Zen breathlessly chuckling as he looked down at the mess they’d made together. He smiled, shaking his head and motioning for Zen to move so he could get up. Another soft moan escaped the brunet as he finally fully slipped out. He shot Yokozawa a self-conscious look before darting into the bathroom; For once, it was Kirishima who’d gotten embarrassed.    
  


Sighing softly, he looked around. There were no tissues, no paper towels, nothing in sight, “Tsch, leaves me all alone here with nothing to clean myself up with…”    
  


“That’s why I hurried,” Zen’s tone was riddled with chuckles, “But if you’d rather sit there and complain, that’s fine by me.”    
  


Yokozawa shook his head, getting up. For a moment, he felt utterly awkward; his body ached in certain places while feeling slicker than it ever had. He shot Zen an embarrassed smile, hating how easily his cheeks reddened around the older man but relishing in the knowledge that Zen found it one of the best aspects about him.    
  


“Go take a shower,” the brunet pointed at the bathroom behind him, “I’ll see what I can do about this mess.”    
  


Yokozawa nodded, trodding off to clean himself as Zen ran a hand through his hair before heading towards the couch.    
  


On his way to the shower, Yokozawa’s eye fell on the clock. It was so late that it was early. Behind him, the sun was beginning to peek through the curtains as well. Should he just sleep here? They both had the day off tomorrow so he might as well. Sorata was here too, so he really didn’t even have an excuse not to. Grabbing the stool and Zen’s small bucket of shower supplies, Yokozawa set to cleaning himself off.    
  


His shower turned out longer than intended, his wandering mind making him lose track of time. Was this going to be his life now? With Zen as the pappa and himself as the mamma for Hiyori? Yokozawa would never admit it out loud, but when Zen had suggested he might be somewhat motherly in his care for Hiyori, he’d felt proud. He’d felt like he belonged. Hiyori was an amazing little girl and it was nigh impossible not to dote on her the same way her father did.    
  


But Hiyori wasn’t the only reason Yokozawa might consider taking up permanent residence here. There was Kirishima Zen to consider. If Yokozawa was perfectly honest with himself, he would have to admit that properly falling in love with Zen was the best thing he’d ever done. If he was completely honest, he’d have to admit that Zen was the only person he could never imagine not having in his life anymore. Masamune? Maybe. But that door was forever closed and he was happier for it.    
  


A soft knock sounded on the door, “Takafumi, are you alright in there?” Zen’s voice held just a hint of worry.    
  


“Yeah!” He quickly rinsed his hair, wondering just how long he’d taken. After, Yokozawa hurriedly toweled himself dry, his stomach growling at him for lack of food. It made sense after being up all night. Zen had left him clean clothes to dress in, which Yokozawa thankfully accepted. He dressed hastily before walking over to the kitchen.    
  


Zen had gotten started on breakfast, wearing a set of clean clothes himself. Yokozawa inadvertently looked over at the couch; aside from a damp spot where Zen had undoubtedly scrubbed until he had no energy left to scrub with, there was no proof that anything had ever happened. The door to the balcony was open, allowing fresh air to replace the sex-scented air inside the living room; he couldn’t smell it anymore.    
  


“Set the plates, please.” Zen’s voice was tired, it was clear that cooking breakfast was taking all his concentration. Smiling softly, Yokozawa reached up to grab two plates before turning to the table, freezing in place.    
  


“Yokozawa-oniichan!” The girl in the yellow pajamas happily made her way to the table, resting her hands on the back of the closest chair, “I knew I heard you last night! Can I have some breakfast too?”


End file.
